Over And Out

(source)

What would you have me do, dear Lord,

What would you have me do,

With the years I’ve left and the strength I have,

What would you have me to do.

What would you have me say, dear God,

What would you have me say,

With the words I have and the time to come

What would you have me to say.

You’re asking me, as if I choose ,

what I would have you do,

This game’s your deal, you win you lose,

I leave it all up to you.

But what’s the point in that, dear Lord,

That sucks, I need a plan,

A compass to steer by, a lifeboat, a captain,

A god, can’t depend on mere man.

I need a someone, a star in the sky,

A token, a ruddy big tome,

I need the wisdom, that fell through the ages,

To study and lead me to home.

Tough luck, my dear child, I came and I went,

I tried and I left it at that,

Why not do the same with the best that you’ve got,

I’m no magician with a bloody big hat. 

Get off you arse and give it a go, 

Just do it, anyone can, 

I’m no man of mystery, just gave it my best, 

Miracles happen with plans.

Hmm, that sounds like work, like labour, you know

That stuff where mothers give birth,

Painful and long and messy and crap,

Are you sure that’s the best that you have.

And what did you get with that pushing and shoving 

And what led you there to that joint,

Some pleasure, some pain and a whole lot to gain,

I call that a plan with a point.

So children and life and loving and stuff,

Some sex to give it a thrill,

Keep the pot boiling and never give up,

Do it with the best of my will.

I think you’re at it, are you laughing at us,

Chuckling at our frantic antics

Tell me the truth (I’ll keep it a secret)

Are you up to some of your tricks.

Well, what if I am, it’s boring up here,

I liked it best when on earth,

Wind up the natives, get them all riled

Some tricks and a bloody good laugh.

It could be so good, I tried to make it that way,

Then father called me on home,

Curfew, you know, out after time,

And time’s his, wherever we roam.

Why not just try it, I found it the best

Hanging with family and friends,

Speaking on up whenever I could.

Quite frankly, I found it no test.

Loving and living and fairness and shit

Some wine – I’m a dab hand at homebrew –

Stop fretting, stop fearing, am I really here,

You’ll soon find out if I’m true.

Are you threatening me ‘cos my birthday is near,

You think that I’m getting old,

Well, I’ve got news for you,

I do what I can and I do it without being told.

I’m on it and at it, all over this place,

Viral, I’m like a rash,

Up every morning and raring to go,

Just concerned I might make a hash.

Quit it, I’m tired, I’ve been up every night, 

Stopping you clowns from your worst,

Have you any idea what it’s like to be here,

An infirmary, I’m doctor and nurse.

I need a hand and you’ve got two hands 

And the stuff that’s grown as you’ve grown,

Just do your thing, that’s all that I did,

You have a mind of your own.

Oops, my bad, I thought you were free,

Plenty of time where you live,

Just give me enough and I’ll do my bit

And, if I fluff it, I hope you’ll forgive.

Over and out, do you say that up there,

Are you really asking to know,

Or just being facetious, I know you, you know.

Okay god, bye, got to go.

 

With apologies to anyone without a religious funny bone. Me and god have this thing going. (Yeah, god and I). He gets to confound me, I get to dig him up for it. He gets to tell me to get on with it because what difference does it make if he’s there or not. And I get to dig him up for it again. Then I just get on with it.

He gets to show me this amazing world. I get to show him pictures of my weans. He’s on Facebook, you know. Strange username. Hard to spell.

He gets to tell me to stop fannying around and I get to tell him to make life easier. We have a laugh. Mostly him, I think. We’re best buds, most days. Some days, though, I give him what’s for. Then he gives me it back. He’s like that, you know. Give a little, take a little.

Mostly, he’s like an aura. Like a mist that spans time and space and every notion we can conceive.

He gets to smile and love me. I’m quite lovable. Mainly. ‘cept when I’m in a bad mood. Then I’m a witch. Ask anyone. He quite likes witches too. Told me. Tells me a lot. Not the winning lottery ticket, right enough. Not sure why that is. I’d give most of it away.

Kinda seems to want me to just have sex and weans. I’m good with most of that. Have you seen my crew? Weans are great. So’s sex. Bang goes the winning lottery ticket.

Yeah, so, me and god. God and I. Whatev’s. Apparently, I’ve just got to get on with it. Does he tell you that too? Hope your sex life is good. Either that or you’ve won the lottery. I’ll keep the sex and weans. And just get on with it.

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Ready, Steady, Revolution

(source)

When the revolution comes

will you be ready

Hearts afire

flames upon your head

Spirit of your youth

still dwelling in there

Nothing gone or lost

till six feet dead

When the new year comes

will you be ready

Another day

as all new days once more

Earth around the sun

we’re still in orbit

Hanging in there

better than before

Stronger for the effort

and the trying

Smarter

for experience we’ve gained

More empathetic

by the hearts sore tested

Healers to each other

in our pain

When the day begins again

each new one

The revolution

one more spin around

Will you be ready

are you prepared, still willing

Bring it on

we’re still above the ground!

Written for today’s Senior Salon #4. Don’t know how I feel about qualifying for that! I suppose coming up on 55 counts. But still raring to go. Come the revolution – every one of them. 😉

Blessing All Quantities

(source)

I count their blessings

less defined than mine

I count theirs first

that fear in all unknowing

going onwards

disappointed innocence

that’s the worst

All signs in prospect 

so elusive 

unknown quantities 

hazards blind 

I steer, advise them 

watch and catch them 

pointing once again 

in hopes they find

Their own distinct paths

though all roads trodden

worn before by others

new to them 

I count their blessings

give directions

then stand aside

to let them learn

They’re going forwards 

I’ve been there, done that

racing eagerly

all steps a risk 

I count their blessings 

embrace them as mine

one to seven growing

on my list

Lucy’s Light

Johnny and I have been working together again on a new song. I hope you like it. Merry Christmas everyone!

I’ll shatter the dark for you,

Paint your world with colours, you’ll see

Saffron, crimsons and blues,

Only my light can imbue

Treasures I hold for you,

Galaxies far, we’ll go seeking new stars,

I’ll open it all up to you.

Shimmer on oceans and shores,

All of this and much more,

Vision and sight, I will give you my life,

With me all this is in store.

Rainbows I’ll paint for your taste,

No light of mine will I waste,

Travel with me, hold on tight,

We’ll journey out into space.

 

Secrets shared for your grace,

Hold on while I lead the chase,

Nothing comes closer than Lucy at light speed,

I’ll keep you close by in my race,

Moons I’ll bathe with my dust,

All of this when you trust,

Radiant light, I will give you my sight,

If you’ll give me shelter and love.

Comfort when we’re side by side,

No need for our love to hide,

We’ll be united if you’re quite decided,

Night and day, we’ll abide.

 

I’ll shatter the dark for you,

Paint your world sky blue,

Give my light for the sights of your life,

With me you’ll see that it’s true,

Secrets we hide in space

Revealed when we’re in the race,

Hold on tight for the ride of your life,

Night and day now embraced.

Lucy is here by your side,

Come quickly, you must decide,

Look for me near, I am always right here,

Get ready for the ride of your life.

Birthing Words

I feel obliged to write you with my reasons,

though they wane and wax with time, there’s constancy,

nothing can surpass the words 

if, even sleeping,

they drift and drone and beg, oh, please, choose me!

I shush them when, in real-life mode, I’m enacting

fulfillment of the roles I must obey,

I try to shun them, tell them, wheesht! I’m working

Do they listen? Not a word that I can say.

They tease, torment and test me with their pullings,

This way, that, o’er here, oh, Anne-Marie, please look at me.

Dismissal doesn’t work, I’ve tried, they never listen,

I jot them down for my posterity.

I’ll come to you, I say, when I have finished, 

the workload that demands so much of my time,

I’ll hear you better when the pressure’s off me,

Like children, they just sulk then whine on constantly.

I must admit, I’d miss them if they left me,

They start my day and end it with their charm

And even though they tug, torment and taunt me,

They never really do me any harm.

I love them, they’re my children, 

Add to seven,

the words that birth themselves and beg me, please,

feed me, fill me, love me, never leave me.

I resign myself to mother of all these.

You’ve got to love this place. Even when I’m ignoring it as much as I can to do what I have to, it sneaks in. Checking through a bunch of emails that I’m also trying to ignore till I’ve, at least, wrapped the feckin’ presents, I come across this one, leading to this one that takes me back to this one and spawns this one.

I can be accused of many things – a tendency to leaving things to the last minute being chiefly noticeable at this particular time – next year I’ll start in September, like some of the folks in my school. Who wraps Christmas presents in October? Does this mean that they have Easter sorted too? Booked their summer holiday?

I seem to remember that my essays always got in on time. But usually after an all-nighter. Each to their own comes to mind. But this might be why I’m still shopping, haven’t wrapped a single present other than the lucky dip for school, will hit some stores tomorrow, god-help-me, and enlist the help of my fourteen-year-old wrapping elf.

I can’t, however, be accused of being short on words – check my posts. Haiku? I wish. I’m missing my writing time so badly that I’m dreaming the bloody words again. Noted for future reference. Driving to work has become a memory test. Repeat, repeat, repeat till I can note.

Ain’t it great though, that words demand of us? That’s kind of what Charles was talking about, I think. It’s like words are truly born – and I know what that’s like! Including one emergency caesarian with the last. Some are easy, some not so much so, some require intervention. But, after the birth, you look and say, I know you. I’ve always known you.

My kids – my real babes – are sorted for Christmas. I just have to make sure to take time to tend to the ones that keep on crying. Love takes many forms.

Merry Christmas all you lovely folk. I may be back before you know it. Or I might be burning the venison, cursing the carols (don’t you just get sick of the same ones?!)

Feck it! When my crew are all sated, from too much of me, I’ll be loving my orphans.

Won’t we all! Mothers and fathers to words.

Your words are a gift. I thank you for them.

They’re also your gift to yourself. Open them every day.

Words are made flesh and live among us.

Full Circle

[(Awarded 1st Place) Great Grandmother by SFC Lance Widner – Division 1 (Active Duty Military) CC by 2.0]

The light weighs no more than seven pounds or one hundred,

fuses the two in joint weightlessness,

gifts a vision, transcendent,

reveals what was and is and a voice says, Come.

Question is not asked nor answer given though it hangs

on pillows and white cotton,

a wondering, hopeful question,

am I thus renewed

and the light blinks,

bats eyes in coy allusion,

it is not mine to tell

but lift, with me, this easy burden,

bring your child home.

Written for Mindlovemisery’s Photo Challenge #92 and Haddon Musings’ Senior Salon #3. For some reason, best known to my Kindle browser upgrade, I can’t copy and paste the links. I’ll do that when I fire up my laptop tomorrow – well, today, but I’m going to sleep now. Hope I wake! I hate an unfinished job.

Woke, worked, shopped, still doing, Merry Christmas, not wrapped yet but got the links updated. I call that a score. 😉

Solar Solace

teeth are thirsting

aching

pleading

seeking

solar

sustenance

in dulled deluge

of night

restless panting

wan and wanting

for life-blood 

birthed

renewed

from dewy drops

of solace

in evolving light

Senior Moments

‘Is she still in this?’

‘Aye. She was away a while. She’s back now, though.’

‘What’s her name, again?

‘Cannae mind.’

‘Who’s that?’

‘That’s her daughter.’

‘Looks like her mum.’

‘They aw look like each other. Torn-faced.’

‘Who’s that she’s with?’

‘That’s her boyfriend.’

‘I thought she was going out with some other guy. A blondish guy that was the brother of the other one.’

‘Aye, she was. He’s in prison. This is an ex she’s back with. I think.’

‘So, what are they arguing about?’

‘I’m not sure. I think it’s because they killed someone and the body’s under the floorboards of his mum’s extension.’

‘Fuck sake.’

‘I know.’

‘So, what’s their problem?’

‘Stress.’

‘Bit random, isn’t it?’

‘You’re no’ kiddin’.’

‘Like Twin Peaks.’

‘I never watched Twin Peaks.’

‘None of it?’

‘Not a one.’

‘I saw bits and pieces. Think it showed on a Saturday.  I was young and gallivanting then. There was one episode, though….or a bit of one…freaky….’

‘What’s that?’

‘A room with curtains all around it. Freaky music. Then a wee midget guy appears, says nothing…just dances to this really freaky music. Creepy.’

‘Never saw it.’

‘Remember Moonlighting? We used to watch that.’

‘I never watched it. You did.’

‘You did so. It had random stuff in it too. Far-fetched bits. Whatdoyoucallhim was in it.’

‘Aye. Him.’

‘Him out of those movies.’

‘Aye.’

‘….Hard….Hard Something….Hard Core..’

‘Wisnae that.’

‘Well, something like that. Thick, maybe. Hard and Thick.’

Guffaw.

I’m away into the kitchen when I hear him shouting.

‘Die Hard.’

‘Aye. That.’

A conversation I had, not half an hour ago, with my husband. Fitted an invite I had today for The Senior Salon. I feel like six hundred and forty now.

 

Penny Revelations

(source)

For a penny

you can gamble your reflection

veneered reverse of silver

invites bronze

Revelations pending

for a penny

nominal persuasion

tempting, come

Caretaker of the looking-glass

awaits you

beckons, whispers 

her compelling song

Listen to hypnosis

for a penny

shall you risk the void

a penny scratch, you’re gone

 

Lath And Plaster Lockets

(source)

Lath and plaster crumbled mid the rafters,

Dust and debris hung by aged cobwebs,

Linked by shadows lingering hereafter,

Secret lives suspended by their threads.

Here’s a year when someone else once lived here,

There’s the time they opened casket, found

Chains of bones, forgotten that once held cheer,

Dust to dust, they loiter, still around.

Cemented, covered over, for duration,

Detritus has held them fastened tight,

Awaiting such a moment, reparation,

Motes of souls, now drywalled, from all light.

There are memories you can’t see, in these lockets,

Hidden in the eaves, behind the walls,

Lath and plaster hold them, in dry pockets,

Residing there till this old building falls.